Satisfaction
by Seizalyn
Summary: A young Mikagami contemplates on the two most important people in his life -- one dead, one alive -- as he stands mourning by a lost one's grave.


**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** I wrote this fanfic as an English assignment ...well, to be brutally honest, it wasn't even an assignment ^^;; Just regular homework, which probably won't even be graded, poo -_-XXX Anyway!...er, right. Anyway. Geez, I don't have much to say for this ficlet, do I? @_@ I think I overdid it with the language quite a bit -- it's WAY too coherent for a ten-year old's mind with too many big words I'm pretty sure I didn't know when I was ten *sweatdrop* Especially for a ten-year old who's just witnessed a murder *coughs* Yeah, yeah...groan away. You can tell who this is gonna be about already, can't you? ^_~

Sorry if it's considered a rehash, same-old-same-old stuff ^^;; I couldn't help it: it's due tomorrow and the first person that came to mind to write about was..._him._ Heck, considering the amount of fics done already, there's bound to be another one previous to this that's about chibi Mikagami *shrugs* Oh well, just thought I'd upload it anyway since I've written it ^_^ Besides, it may have been done before by others, but it hasn't been done before by moi! So there ;o)

And yes, comments are still welcomed. Even if this is freaking short when compared to my other fics ^.^

**SPOILERS:** Spoilers on Mikagami's past, which basically appears around anime episode three or so and manga volume two. You've been warned ^_^

Satisfaction 

            I felt a hand on my shoulder and I didn't need to turn to see whom it belonged to. I knew from the coarseness of the palm and the gentle yet firm fingers that grasped my shoulder that it was my master, offering me what little comfort he could in the face of this tragedy. He remained silent, simply standing just a little behind me, not saying a word and knowing that he didn't need to. His presence was overbearing enough without the need for words to further enhance it.

            I didn't respond to his show of affection -- which was ironic, really, because he had rarely showed me any affection before this. I had always craved for the day when he would look at me with his wise, penetrating eyes and I would see something more in there other than mere disapproval; something more than the average teacher-student relationship. I can't think of a time when he had ever openly praised me -- truly, if he ever did, it had been hidden beneath the veil of dissatisfaction he so often used with me.

            Yet I persevered, continuously trying so very hard to earn that slightest hint of approval from him. I admired him: I admired his strength, his skill with the sword and his calm yet calculating demeanour. More than once I found myself riveted by his all-knowing, all-seeing persona -- it was as if he could see right through you and find what it was that made you tick. Such qualities were perfect for a master swordsman, and I struggled to embody those traits with all my being. I wanted to be accepted as his sole heir to the Hyomon Ken technique.

Yet more than that, I wanted to be accepted as his son. I wanted him to be my father.

            I miss having a father so badly. I miss having someone to look up to, for who else could a son idolise more than his own father? Yet I had no father, for he died so long ago that the only reason I knew his face was because of the family pictures my sister showed me. She said he had died in a car crash, along with my mother. I don't quite remember anything about that, as it happened nearly seven years ago. I had only been three years old at that time. I don't remember their voices, their touch, or their warmth. Immortalised as they were within the pictures and the memories of those who knew them, I feel no attachment for them at all. I don't mourn their loss as much as I mourn my loss right now.

            However, it did not mean that I didn't feel that tinge of jealousy as I watched other boys' relationship with their fathers. How I wanted to know that feeling, that security that came with being with the one who raised you, who gave you life...I wanted a father, and my master seemed the closest to what I could get.

            People in black suits and dresses walked up to the grave before us, some weeping inconsolably while others dabbed at their reddish eyes with little handkerchiefs. All took their turns at sending their last wishes to the body now buried within the soft, freshly dug earth. I wondered if she could hear what they were saying. Could she hear their grief-stricken voices, their choking sobs? Could she see the mascara-covered streams that ran down the ladies' cheeks, the tiny trickles at the corners of the men's eyes?

Could she see the tears that blinded my own eyes, as I watched them, one by one, say their last goodbyes?

            "Tokiya, your sister was a wonderful person...there will never be another one like her."

            Of course there won't be. She was the best there ever was, and ever will be.

Now they are here, standing in front of me, giving me gentle pats on the head, smoothening my messy hair that was ruffled by the wind. I suppose I should say something in return, maybe thank them for coming. Yet when I tried, not a word could leave my mouth. Even a simple 'thank you' was stuck in my throat, a painful lump that wouldn't come out no matter how hard I tried to push it. The knot within my stomach was gradually tightening itself into a fiery ball of pain, sadness and grief. I was afraid it would suddenly leap out and engulf the entire procession within its hungry flames. My eyes grew hotter, burning from the stinging sensation brought by the tears.

Now my master tries to convey his support through his grip on my shoulder. Again, no words were necessary; only a touch was needed and I was able to quench that growing sadness for the time being. Now was not a time for crying; I have time for that later. Pulling strength from my master's touch, I nodded as they offered their condolences. Their words filtered through my mind as I heard them, mulled over them, and eventually cast them away. No amount of words could possibly make me feel better. It didn't matter what they said, because it wouldn't change the situation for the better. It wouldn't bring my dead sister back from the cold prison within which she laid.

The pitter-patter of raindrops could be heard as it began drizzling down upon us. The sky was gloomy as dark clouds gathered slowly over the town's graveyard, a blanket of sorrow that smothered us to the point of forcing people to leave. It seemed as if Mother Nature herself was mourning the death of one so bright, so warm that she rivalled the sun itself with her brilliance. Angels wept for her loss; gods grieved for her demise.

I did not move, not even an inch. The ceremony was to last until evening. I would stay here until it was over, even if it meant staying alone. I might as well get used to staying alone, anyway. My sister was the only family I had left in this world since the death of my parents; I had neither relatives nor friends who could possibly replace her. What made it worse was that all this could have been avoided, if only we had done something different. Just one thing, and all would have changed.

If only we had locked the door, those robbers would not have come in. If only they had taken what they wanted and left, I would not have lost my mind to fear's icy hand. If only I hadn't moved, she would not have taken the bullet for me. If only the police had arrived sooner, those murderers would have been stopped. If only the ambulance had arrived faster, she might have been saved. If only...

If only I had been strong enough to protect her, I could have stopped this.

My hands trembled uncontrollably as I turned them into tiny fists, trying to contain the rage within me. Yes, if only I had been stronger, smarter and braver. If only I had been any of those three, I might have stopped this. She wouldn't have died unnecessarily protecting me, when it should have been the other way around. It didn't matter that I was the younger of the two of us. It was still my duty to protect her, and I had failed terribly.

"What's the use," I muttered, feeling my resolve give way and the silvery streams run slowly down my cheeks, "What's the use of all this sword-training...if I can't even use it to protect my family? What?!"

The hand tightened on my shoulder, and I looked up in surprise. I had been so absorbed in my thoughts that I had completely forgotten about my master's presence. He looked down at me, his eyes sympathetic. The same hand that grasped my shoulders now gently pushed aside the long fringes that were plastered upon my forehead. Was he thinking of something? His eyes told me he was.

"Tokiya...are you angry?" he asked, his voice soft.

Unhesitatingly, I answered, "Yes."

"With who? With the ones who killed your sister?"

"Yes."

"Who killed your sister? The robbers? Or you?"

I paused. I didn't know. It felt like my fault, for if I hadn't tried to run they wouldn't have reacted by shooting at me and she wouldn't have blocked the bullet. Then again, if those robbers hadn't come in the first place...

"Why are you even entertaining that possibility, boy? Of course it's their fault! You would never kill your own sibling, would you?"

"Of-Of course not!" I answered, horrified that he would even think that way.

"What will you do then?"

"What...will I do?"

"Yes," he nodded sombrely, kneeling down to look at me eye-to-eye. His gaze was so intense, so passionate to the point that it shook me to my very core. "You cannot leave this be, Tokiya. As a swordsman, as a warrior and as a brother...you cannot let the murderers of your loved one go unpunished."

"But the police--"

"How many cases such as this do you think those blasted police handle every day? It would take too long!" he exclaimed, shaking his head vehemently, "No, you must do this. You must take this matter into your own hands, and solve it as soon as you can."

As soon as I could...Yes, I wanted to see those murderers punished for what they had done. I don't want to wait for ten years, maybe even more. I would go crazy waiting for that day to come. I would take my destiny into my own hands, not sit around and wait for a time that may not even happen.

I looked up at my master, knowing that the resolution was clear in my sapphire-blue eyes. No longer were they as clear as a sunny day's sky -- they were now covered by the blanket of desire, the desire for vengeance.

"How will I do it?" I asked. Yet before he could tell me, the answer hit me like a raging tsunami against a steadfast cliff, revealing the tunnel that would lead me to my destiny, my goal.

My sword. My pride. My desire. They were all weapons I would use to avenge my sister's death. Those murderers would woe the day they sent that bullet through her frail body, staining the ground with her innocent, guiltless blood. I would not rest till the day I look them in the eye and exact my punishment for their crime.

It was a vow, a promise.

For the first time since I could remember, my master smiled at me in pure, open satisfaction.

~fin~


End file.
